


pig

by bloodandcream



Series: Ship all the Ships [120]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bloodplay, Collars, Dom Cain, Dom/sub, Face-Fucking, Knifeplay, M/M, Rope Bondage, Rough Sex, Sub Castiel, Suspension, animal slaughter role play, farm animal roleplay, minor cannibalism if you squint but it's really not bad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-08
Updated: 2016-05-08
Packaged: 2018-06-06 23:57:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6775588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodandcream/pseuds/bloodandcream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel would find no judgement with Cain, no questions, no demands. Only the acceptance of someone like minded. And the curious freedom that Castiel could only find when he was collared.</p>
            </blockquote>





	pig

**Author's Note:**

> So much love to my artist and super bff [Angrysouffle](http://angrysouffle.tumblr.com/) who made adorable fucking edits for this. And thanks to the mods of the KBB for putting this together. :D

  
  
-  
  
Castiel tapped his fingers impatiently against the steering wheel, his car moving forward an inch per minute in the traffic jam. He could see the blinking lights of police cars up ahead and felt a twinge of guilt for his short temper at being held up by an accident. At least he wasn’t the car accordianed against the guard rail.  
  
The air conditioning was stale in the slow moving car. Minutes ticking by incrementally and all he wanted was to be somewhere else. Still trapped in the glass and steel of the city around him, Castiel couldn’t stop thinking about work. About all the projects he should be double-checking or getting a head start on this weekend.  
  
He deserved at least one weekend a month to himself, didn’t he?  
  
It wasn’t that Castiel hated his job. He simply didn’t particularly enjoy it. He accepted his responsibilities as an adult though, and worked hard to excel at what he was given in life. Business accounting was something his parents had nudged him towards in college. Something that was safe and would do well to raise a family on. It had seemed perfectly reasonable.  
  
Twenty years later, no family in sight, his life stretching in front of with the same rote tediousness, and Castiel wasn’t even bitter. It was a simple and quiet life. He could appreciate that. Even if his mother still bothered him about providing grandchildren. Castiel had been a late bloomer in coming to terms with his homosexuality. His parents, however, refused to acknowledge it. Castiel supposed, after recently redoubled efforts by his father to drag him to church picnics and find a respectable wife, that they would never be willing to accept it.  
  
It was fine. He had friends at work. A few fern plants on the windowsills at home. And monthly appointments with Cain.  
  
Past the car accident, the congestion of traffic eased. It wasn’t far to the edges of the city where the sky scrapers sloped down to smaller office buildings that gave way to sprawling suburbia. Rolling down his window, Castiel flipped off the AC and tipped his face into the sun. As the houses thinned out, the two lane freeway lazily curving with the hilly landscape, Castiel could feel the tension from work ease.  
  
Shoulders drooping, taking one hand off the steering wheel to drape out of the open window, Castiel smiled as he passed a field of grazing cows. The incessant buzzing of tasks to be completed that he always ticked off mentally was finally quieting.  
  
He didn’t even feel guilty for wanting this anymore.  
  
There was a time in his youth when just the stray thought of kissing a man would send him to the confessional booth. An innocent kiss paled in comparison to the strange and depraved sexual fantasies he participated in now.  
  
Leaving work and his day to day life behind, Castiel felt a hum of excitement start to simmer under his skin. He needed these weekends. He never realized how tightly coiled his life could wind him up until Cain got everything unknotted.  
  
Castiel would find no judgement with Cain, no questions, no demands. Only the acceptance of someone like minded. And the curious freedom that Castiel could only find when he was collared.  
  
-  
  
The sun was at the horizon line by the time Castiel turned onto the private rutted dirt lane that wound back through fields and tree lines to Cain’s secluded property. Easing down the lane as his car bounced, Castiel swayed with the movements and squinted through the trees towards Cain’s house. It was still well lit outside, dusk only starting to settle, but the sky was ablaze with the variegated hues of sunset. The front of the white painted farmhouse faced South, the colors of the horizon reflected on the ripples of a small pond to the West of the house, down a slope dotted with wildflowers. The wraparound porch was deep and welcoming, scattered with green painted wicker furniture. The shutters were a cheerful yellow.  
  
There was no garage, aways back from the house was a large barn and between them were chicken coops with animal pens to the East. Castiel pulled onto a worn dirt area by the lane next to Cain’s old pick up truck to park. Quietly, he sat in his car with the windows down and watched as the sun sank further below the horizon line of corn fields. Still dressed in a starched white shirt and slacks from the workday, Castiel discarded his jacket, the air thick and muggy in the height of summer. Popping the trunk, he picked up a plain black back pack that had everything he would need for the weekend.  
  
The hypnotic relaxation of the drive out to the country was starting to give way to tension again, pulling tight in his gut, but it was more of a feeling of anticipation than nerves. His cock was semi hard in his pants already. Castiel dearly hoped he wasn’t developing a Pavlovian responses to farms in general, but only in particular to Cain’s farm.  
  
Porch steps worn with a groove down the middle from age creaked under him, the front door was open with only the screen frame between the inside and the outside. Lights were on, Castiel could hear Cain moving around inside, and whatever he was cooking smelled delicious. Unzipping the back pack, Castiel picked out his offering of a nice Zinfandel before rapping on the wood frame of the screen door. The whisper of foot steps shuffled over wood floors and Cain appeared down the hallway in the door to the kitchen.  
  
Castiel’s heart beat picked up. Schooling his features to appear calm, he curled his toes in his shoes and waited. Cain made his way to the door, a smile under his beard, wiping his hands on a towel that he slung over a shoulder. Loose blue jeans and a faded gray t-shirt were simple on him, but suiting. His hair was tied up. He did that when he cooked.  
  
“Castiel. Just in time. Dinner’s almost done.”  
  
The door swung open and Castiel held the bottle of wine in front of him as he stepped over the threshold. Cain took it, hands lingering, one sliding up his arm to give a small squeeze before retreating.  
  
“Hello, Cain. How have you been?”  
  
“Well. And yourself?”  
  
“Good.”  
  
Castiel followed Cain into the kitchen, past the door to the living room lined in bookshelves, past the stairway and the door to the basement. Cain tucked the dish towel onto the rail for the oven and set the bottle of wine on the counter, getting glasses from the cupboard and a cork screw. Castiel leaned back against a line of counters, out of his way. There were steaks sizzling in a skillet on the stove and his mouth watered.  
  
“It smells wonderful.”  
  
Cain passed him a glass of wine. “Thank you, go ahead and sit in the dining room, it’ll just be a minute.”  
  
Reaching out, Castiel settled a hand on Cain’s waist, stepping up close to him and leaning in to brush a soft kiss against his mouth. Cain squeezed his hip and patted it once, nudging him towards the dining room. Castiel took both their glasses and the rest of the bottle in with him. A honey colored wood table, scratched but sturdy, sat in the middle of the room. The windows were nearly floor to ceiling, gauzy curtains pulled back, West facing to a lovely view of the sun setting over the fields.  
  
It was barely a few minutes when Cain brought in two plates, piled with steamed broccoli and buttered potatoes next to the steaks. Sitting across from each other, Castiel tucked in as soon as his plate was set down. He tried to remember if he had eaten lunch, but most likely not. It had been hectic at work. He always made sure to get ahead on the work load when he’d be gone for the weekend, since he couldn’t take his work home with him then.  
  
The silence between them, punctuated by a knife scraping over a plate, the small groan Castiel couldn’t hold back at the first bite of steak, it was companionable and comfortable. When they’d both slowed down at half finished, Cain asked the usual, “How was work?”  
  
And as usual Castiel replied, “The same as ever.”  
  
To which Cain grunted, and Castiel proceeded, “How’s the farm?”  
  
“Been a bit dry this year, but the crops will survive.”  
  
Nodding, they made polite conversation as they finished the wine and sopped up all the blood from the rare cooked steak with vegetables. The two of them didn’t have much in common. Not in the way of work, or life styles. But they were surprisingly compatible in other ways. After so long in denial and a few very unsatisfactory relationships with timid men, Castiel discovered the wonders of online dating. Particularly, kink oriented match making sites.  
  
The two of them might only have the time to spend one weekend a month together, but that was all Castiel needed.  
  
Belly full and head a little light from wine, when the plates were clear, Castiel gathered them to wash in the kitchen sink. Cain found his back pack where he’d left it by the front door and brought it in to the kitchen. Wiping his hands off, Castiel dug through his pack and found the thick well worn collar at the bottom, plain leather with a single hoop through the front, buckle in the back. Two inches wide. Worn supple and pliant from use. Castiel didn’t hesitate to pass the collar over to Cain.  
  
“Strip.”  
  
His belly was fluttering but Castiel stripped quickly and smoothly, folding his clothes and tucking them in his pack, socks, underwear, until he stood completely naked in the kitchen.  
  
“Kneel.”  
  
Turning his back to Cain, Castiel knelt on the smooth linoleum floor and tipped his head forward. Cain circled the collar around his neck and buckled it, calloused fingers tracing the edge, shivers tingling down Castiel’s spine as blunt nails scraped up into his hair and he leaned back into the touch resting his head on Cain’s thigh. There was clearly pleased satisfaction on Cain’s face, in his smile as he looked down at Castiel and took a simple moment to pet him.  
  
“Come on then, pet.”  
  
Steeping away and patting his thigh to be followed, Cain held the back screen door open and Castiel trailed after him on hands and knees. At least the grass and earth outside were soft, although he wouldn’t be able to kneel all weekend he enjoyed it. The air was ripe with manure and sweet with wild grass, humid on his skin, a hot summer night to sleet outside. Cain took a languid pace back to the barn, Castiel crawling behind. The sun had sunk past the horizon but the sky was still light, dark ceruleans slowly shifting to night, the moon pale, only the strongest stars shining yet.  
  
It was a little early for bed.  
  
Cain led him into the barn, hard packed dirt floor, empty pens to one side strewn with straw. Cain didn’t keep livestock, except a small chicken coop near the house. His secluded property was maintained for a different sort of animal.  
  
Castiel sat in the aisle and watched, waited. Cain hummed something, rough and deep, as he swung the gate to a pen open and checked it over again. Laying down a thick blanket in one corner, Cain stepped back out and gestured for Castiel with a sharp whistle. Crawling over quickly, Castiel sat square in the middle of his pen.  
  
On hands and knees, he couldn’t fit side to side for how narrow it was, but laying down front to back he could almost stretch out completely. Not quite. Awkwardly twisting himself around to face front, Cain was leaned against the gate post.  
  
“Bit early for bed.”  
  
Leaning forward, Castiel nudged against his thigh, wanting a hand in his hair again, on his skin, any kind of contact. Reassurance. Approval.  
  
Cain tucked a finger under his collar and pulled gently, but Castiel still pressed forward to rub against his leg, swallowing thick against the pressure. “Eager little pig aren’t you?”  
  
He whined.  
  
“That’s good.”  
  
Yes, that exactly.  
  
Cain tugged him back by the collar more forcefully, choking him until Castiel sat back on his heels. Those broad hands made quick work of unbuttoning his jeans and unzipping them, pushed down just a inch, pulling his cock out. Castiel waited. Patient. The straw under his shins was scratchy on his skin, sweat beading and trickling down his spine, his own cock fully hard and trying to make itself known tapping up against his belly. Castiel sat, hands on his thighs, and waited as Cain stroked himself, rubbed a thumb down the underside, held himself.  
  
Castiel’s mouth was watering.  
  
Reaching out one hand, Cain curled his fingers with a “Here, pet” and Castiel was surging forward practically falling against him. Mouth open and eager, he let Cain guide him with a hand in his hair and swallowed down his length with a content hum. The fluttering anticipation in his gut loosened to a gentle heat spreading through his limbs, skin tingling, breath cut off when Cain pushed into his throat and it was perfect.  
  
All the nuance of existence slipped away in the singularity of the moment, the purpose given to Castiel. To be used. To be of service. There was no need for him to determine what and how that was. Cain would take it from him. The simplicity was liberating.  
  
Drooling down his chin, pliant, wet sound of his mouth fucked at a languid savoring pace, Castiel tried not to squirm overly much as Cain took his pleasure. It was a joy to serve him. Steady and firm handed, fair and confident, they had their game already set up and Cain didn’t deviate. It was relaxing.  
  
There was no warning, but more force behind the shove of Cain’s hips when he came at the back of Castiel’s throat. Bitter thick and he swallowed all of it, Cain’s cock lingering in his mouth as he licked and sucked in clean till it was soft. When Cain pulled him off, Castiel sat back on his heels again swaying slightly and buzzing with his own arousal still but calm. Cain tucked himself in, zipped his pants again. Stepped a little further into the pen. Nudged the rough rubber sole of his boot up along the inside of Castiel’s thigh and trapped his cock between thigh and boot, pressure right on the head and painfully uncomfortable.  
  
With a whine Castiel nudged his hips forward, fucking against the bottom of Cain’s boot, hands still settled on the sides of his thighs although he was digging his nails in by now.  
  
“You can hold on to my leg.”  
  
Curling forward, Castiel practically wrapped himself around Cain’s leg and clenched his hands in the man’s jeans. He felt like a dog humping his master’s leg. He was. He was just a filthy base animal and that’s all he deserved. Rocking his hips up as Cain pushed down with his foot, Castiel pressed his face to the warm firm muscle of Cain’s thigh and gasped as his orgasm seized his gut and he rutted through the painful release of it, cock tender as Cain let up on him.  
  
Spent, sticky, and feeling pleasantly hollow in the sort of way that allows one to float off mentally, Castiel felt himself guided by Cain’s sure hands to laying back on the blanket folded over the straw lining the pen. The squeaky swing of the gate closed, the latch clicking into place, as he curled on his side and buried his face in the musty smell of the scratchy blanket.  
  
“Sleep well, pig.”  
  
-  
  
The grating sound of a rooster crowing woke Castiel up at dawn. Through the wide open door of the barn, he could see the mist still clinging to the high grass, the sky barely light enough to call morning. It was chilly and damp, but enough in the height of summer to spend the night curled under only a thick wool blanket.  
  
Grunting as he rolled over, Castiel stretched his legs as well as he could, poking his feet through the rails to work out the ache in his knees. Admittedly, he was getting a little old for this sort of thing. His body would be sore by the end of the weekend, and not only for sleeping on the ground. But his mind would be balanced and calm. Usually, one weekend a month was enough to tide him over.    
  
It was curious, how the accumulation of mental tension could in a sense be purged. Like a ‘cleanse’. Only, with physical pain and the repentance of obedience. There might a psychological connection to it, a sense of masochism and a need to be punished for perceived guilt, but Castiel had learned that this sort of thing was far more effective for his peace of mind than saying twenty Hail Mary’s and praying.  
  
Thoughts wandering, Castiel drifted in half sleep as the world woke up around him, sun coming up to gleam golden over the idyllic countryside. Castiel could hear and sometimes see Cain moving around outside. He had his chickens to tend, a personal garden, a colony of bees, and a few stray feral cats in addition to the acres of land he worked for a living.  
  
Scratching at the dried come on the inside of his thighs, Castiel yawned and sat up to stretch his arms above his head and work out a few kinks. Cain appeared at the wide door in long sleeved shirt and jeans, eyes bright, with a metal feed bucket that could be clipped on the rails of the pen gate.  
  
“Good morning.”  
  
Castiel couldn’t help the smile that spread over his face of it’s own will at Cain’s voice. Shuffling around in his pen, he faced forward on his hands and knees as Cain clipped the food to the inside of the gate and walked away. Plain gruel, Castiel wasn’t sure what it was, barley sometimes, corn feed maybe, occasionally oatmeal. It looked like oatmeal today. The bucket was low and shallow, easy to eat out of without his hands. Messy. Food sticky against his chin and cheeks as he chased it around the bucket, Castiel licked it clean as best he could.  
  
Cain came back to take the food bucket, and set water inside his pen in it’s stead. He slurped as much of that up as he could as well, grating his dirty cheek against the lip of the bucket to swipe off the food stuck there. Watered and fed, Cain took the bucket and left him to his business. Now this part, it had taken Castiel a little while to adjust to the idea of it, but he found it oddly freeing in that he could get himself so entrenched in the mindset as a submissive and as a pet that he had no problem now. Because this is what Cain instructed him to do. There was a groove in the floor of the barn to the side of the pen that sloped down, and in the small space Castiel squatted over it to relieve himself before curling up in the opposite corner of the pen and waiting. Cain wasn’t long to return, opening the gate for Castiel.  
  
“Come on, I have work for this morning but you can spend your time in the pen outside. Here now, little pig….”  
  
Turning his head around to follow Cain’s movements as the man closed the gate and came around in front of him, Cain rubbed his hands over the collar and ran his fingers under the edge, massaging the skin and pulling it around. From his pocket, he produced a little metal hook that had two prongs, curving up to where they connected in a ‘U’ shape, and a bit of twine was tied to it. Castiel tipped his head up, Cain hooking the thing into his nose and pulling up, twine reaching up the length of his nose and forehead, around the curve of his skull, and being tied to the back of his collar. Nose stretched up, it was uncomfortable at first but he’d adjust. He couldn’t look completely down, range of his neck limited, but Cain hadn’t secured it too severely.  
  
With a soft whistle, Cain patted his hip and walked out of the barn, Castiel crawling after. He was led to the large sunny pen with a waist high split rail fence, the ground inside churned muddy and Castiel wondered for the lack of rain if Cain had done that just for him. Cain held the gate open and Castiel made his way inside, stopping and turning around as soon as he was clear of the gate.  
  
“Go on, just relax, I’ll come get you in a few hours.”  
  
He knew Cain couldn’t pay attention to him every hour of the day, but Castiel still wanted that. At least Cain gave him a few firm strokes over the curve of his skull and across the slope of his shoulders, before patting his cheek and retreating. Castiel was left in the outdoor pen, earth soft and muddy underneath him, the sky a clear bright blue with cotton ball clouds floating lazily, and it looked to be a perfect day.  
  
The mud squelched under his hands and knees as he circled the pen, splashed in a few deeper puddles, and decided to roll around in the cool mud as he stretched and passed the morning doing nothing much at all but existing. There was nothing else to do. No responsibilities to be seen to. He’d left his adult life in the kitchen when Cain put on his collar, and this was all he needed to do now. Fall asleep in the mud.

  
  
-  
  
Castiel hadn’t realized he’d dozed off; woken up by a sharp whistle nearby he startled and rolled over to find Cain watching him from the other side of the pen’s low fence. One foot propped up on the cross bar and his arms folded over the top, in a relaxed hunch, Cain slapped the fence and gestured for Castiel. Rolling onto his knees, Castiel stretched and yawned. He’d fallen asleep in the shady patch of a massive oak that overhung one side of the pen. The mud on his skin was caked dry. Warm under dappled sunlight he felt pleasantly lazy in the way you only can without the weight of any duties, having slept away the morning.  
  
Mud cracked and peeled away as he shifted, pricking at fine hairs, skin tingling and almost itchy as he crawled to where Cain leaned over the fence.  
  
“It’s past noon already, did you have a good morning, pig?”  
  
One of Cain’s hands dangled over the waist high fence, and Castiel shuffled closer to press his face against the back of Cain’s hand, shifting his head to nudge under, and with a quiet huff of amusement Cain scratched his fingers through Castiel’s hair. Dust sprinkled down on his shoulders as Cain worked through hair matted with dirt. Swaying, Castiel let himself be moved side to side following after Cain’s hand. Tipping up on his knees, he snorted when Cain pulled back.  
  
“I brought a small treat.”  
  
Pulling a shiny red apple from his pocket, Cain draped his hand over the fence again, “I didn’t mean to keep you out here quite so long but there was more work than I anticipated.”

  
  
Castiel’s belly rumbled at the sight of food, and he leaned forward to take a bite out of the apple as Cain held it for him. Juicy sweet, dribbling down his chin, Castiel munched contentedly and Cain twisted the apple around as he ate, till he gnawed it to the core. When he had tore every bit of tender flesh off it he could, Castiel licked the juice off Cain’s rough fingers. Cain indulged him, for a moment, before wrapping the apple core in a napkin and tucking it in his pocket.  
  
Swinging the gate open, Cain whistled and patted his hip. Castiel followed. Back to the barn, Cain stopped him just outside the side entrance where a bucket and the water hose were.  
  
“Stand up.”  
  
Body stiff and awkward to unfold as Castiel righted himself, Cain untied the twine tied to his collar and removed the nose hook. Sneezing, Castiel twisted his head to the side to rub his nose on his shoulder, but he only made a mess scraping off dried mud. Wiggling his nose, he rubbed his thighs together to scratch the itch the mud left. It was everywhere. Quite literally.  
  
Cain had moved inside and Castiel waited patiently, but he was back soon enough with a long handled scrub brush. Castiel braced himself just before the stinging smack of cold water hit him when Cain started hosing him down. Even though it were a hot day, the cold water was a shock to his system. Lifting his arms up, Castiel turned side to side, dust turning to mud again and dripping sludgy down his naked body.  
  
Stopping the hose a moment, Cain scrubbed with the very coarse heavy brush at his skin, hosed him again, scrubbed again, repeated over every patch of his body until Castiel felt raw. Once he was rinsed off, Cain set down the hose and dipped his brush in the bucket full of sudsy water. Castiel shut his eyes as it was scrubbed through his hair, over his face, some soap getting in his mouth making his scrunch up tighter for how bitter and ill it was.  
  
With firm hands, Cain moved him around and thoroughly cleaned tip to toe with the soapy brush before picking up the hose again. By the time it was over, Castiel’s teeth were chattering with chill and his whole body throbbed from the rough treatment. Only the soles of his feet were left dirty. His sodden collar was heavier around his neck. Shivering, Cain gestured him into the barn after hanging up the hose and emptying the bucket.  
  
Inside the main open area of the barn, which was separated from the animal pens by a low wall that didn’t reach even a third way up to the cavernous ceiling, on the floor in the middle was spread a large blue tarp. To one side of the tarp a table was set with rope, a few toys Castiel recognized, a line of gleaming knifes. His curiosity peaked as he moved to stand in the middle of the tarp, the plastic crinkling under his bare feet. Arms loose at his sides, the leather collar creaked as he craned his head around to study the set up and watch Cain.  
  
Moving to the table, Cain picked up a bundle of rope before coming over to Castiel. Wordless as he worked, Cain let the knot out of the bundle and shook the rope loose. Bight precisely in the middle of the shorter length of rope that, folded over once, only ran from about Cain’s chest to the floor.  
  
“Arms out.”  
  
Castiel obediently held his arms up, wrists held together in front of him. Cain looped the rope around one wrist and passed the ends through the bight, tightening it and winding several more times around the one wrist before crossing over and repeating the process on the other. Securing each individually, and then to each other, he cinched the rope tight and ran his fingers along it to check it was flat. The plain brown rope was a coarse weave that itched Castiel’s skin, and he knew it’d dig in with a sharp burn if it was pulled on. He looked forward to that.  
  
Dropping his wrists, Cain turned back to the table. Castiel shifted from one foot to the next. He was well rested, a little hungry, but his mind was active and his imagination was quick to provide him a myriad of options for what Cain might do next. He was fully aware of his cock heavy between his legs, not quiet erect yet, but arousal was already a heavy warm weight in his gut. He didn’t know what to expect specifically, but he knew he could expect what he needed.  
  
At the table, Cain picked up a smooth metal hook with a perfectly round ball on the end that was about half the size of a fist. He slicked it with lube before coming back to Castiel.  
  
“Legs apart.”  
  
Hands tied in front of him, Castiel scooted his feet apart to beyond shoulder’s width and stilled. A calloused hand soothed down his back, fingers tracing his spine, palm moving to cup his ass and squeeze. Biting his lip, Castiel stared forward. He very much would like to rub his full erection against the rough rope twisted around his wrists, take himself in hand, but he knew better and held his bound arms a little away from his body to resist the temptation.  
  
Cain dragged the pads of his fingers down the crease of Castiel’s buttocks and past the tight furl, rubbing the sensitive stretch of his perineum before drawing up again to press into his hole, a single digit, smearing lube around and massaging the muscle. Castiel tried not to squirm. The slick metal ball of the hook replaced Cain’s fingers, pressing hard and met with resistance as Castiel tried to will himself to open around it. A slicked hand, warm, wrapped around his hip and held him steady. The firm pressure was unrelenting, with a few deep breaths, Castiel bore down and felt it pop past the tight ring of muscle suddenly with a cramping ache.  
  
He didn’t realize he was whimpering until Cain kissed the back of his shoulder and shushed him.  
  
Patting his hip, Cain murmured “Good boy,” before moving around to face him. Castiel had bit his lip hard enough to taste copper. With his legs spread he had to look farther up to watch Cain standing in front of him with the nose hook again, thicker twine tied to the top of it. Castiel wiggled his nose, still a little sore from wearing the hook so long this morning, and Cain smiled at him. Tipping his head up, he scrunched his face as Cain put it back on, drawing the rope up along his forehead and down the curve of his skull, past his collar, rough scrape of coarse rope down his back and between his ass cheeks, pulled tight as Cain secured it to the eye on the anal hook.  
  
Squirming, keeping up on both feet spread with his arms tied, Castiel shifted awkwardly as Cain pulled his head back farther so the two hooks pulled taut against each other. He couldn’t move without tugging at the one in his nose tight enough to cause his eyes to water, or the one in his ass that pressed almost deep enough to hit his prostate but only if he twisted just so that the pain was almost too much in his nose.  
  
Cain let him wriggle a moment, standing behind him with two hands on his hips to steady him as Castiel fidgeted. He was behaving poorly, and schooled himself quick enough to find his balance again and be still. He could move, technically, but he’d topple himself over or hurt himself. All he needed was a calm, patient discipline.  
  
Only willing to move his eyeballs, Castiel tracked Cain’s movement. More rope. In front of him again, securing the additional length to the binding around Castiel’s wrists. Cain pulled his arms up, stretching to tie the lead rope to a ring dangling from the main beam of the barn. Castiel had been hung from the beam before, mummified in rope and left to sway, tied with the barest harness to bear his weight and dig deep marks into flesh, spread wide in a rope cradle to be fucked. Cain was very talented with rope.  
  
Behind his position, there was a pulley mechanism secured to a post that worked the ring hanging from the beam, pulling it up even and steady. Cain raised his arms above his head and lifted him just enough that Castiel had to balance on his tip toes. Legs still spread wide, he could bring them in to stand flat footed. But Cain hadn’t told him to. Now, he could strain his muscles to hold himself on his toes, or strain his arm sockets to hang from the rope.  
  
Cain circled around him. He was humming something that sounded like a lullaby. Low and soothing. Castiel took purposeful, deep breaths to steady his heartbeat, skin tingling, the burn of the rope chafing around his wrists and the heavy weight of the hook in his ass, body pulled taut and on display, cock hard and God he could feel it drip precome wetly, Castiel tried to calm himself down because he knew they were only just starting.  
  
Breath steadying out, Cain patted his hip. “There’s a good pig.”  
  
There was a squeak and a sharp pungent smell invaded Castiel’s nose. Was that marker? Straining his eyes down, Castiel saw a fat black Sharpie in Cain’s hand. Odd. Cain splayed a palm over his chest and pressed the wet tip of the marker to his skin, dragging in a broken line with a little snick-squeak sound of the marker moving against him. It felt like dotted lines. Arching over his ribs and down his side, it tickled.  
  
“Every part of a pig from the hoof to the snout can be used after slaughter.”  
  
Blinking, Castiel’s belly quivered when the marker traced over it and up again.  
  
“The ribs,” Cain punctuated that with a few firm drags over the bottom line of his ribs, “and here, where we get good bacon, not too much back fat,” dragging in little broken strokes up Castiel’s other side towards the back, “Those are very popular cuts.”  
  
Walking around him, Cain traced a swooping line down his back and over across the small of it, “The loin is a good cut too,” down further, the side of his buttocks and the tops of his thighs, “and the tenderloin of course.”  
  
Back around front, Cain smoothed a hand over his belly. Skin tingling, nose itching from the smell of the marker, Castiel was caught in Cain’s gaze. “Even the organs have their uses. The intestines make excellent casing for sausage.”  
  
Cain smiled at him, lips barely turned up but it reached his eyes. When he stepped back and left Castiel’s line of sight, a sliver of prickly dread shivered down  his spine and settled in his belly. Was Cain… was he marking Castiel like one of those diagrams of the cuts of meat you take off an animal? Craning his head to the side despite the uncomfortable pull of both hooks, Castiel saw Cain tying on a black rubber apron, hands tracing over the knives he had spread out on the table.  
  
Castiel should probably be more frightened than he was. But he wasn’t even considering his safe word. He needed to see where this went.  
  
But Cain didn’t pick up a knife, he moved behind Castiel and eased the ring down so he could get steady on his feet again.  
  
“Kneel.”  
  
Awkwardly trying not to tug at anything, cradling his still bound arms to his chest and lowering himself slowly, Castiel knelt on the tarp, the ground underneath hard. Cain placed a hand on his shoulder and one on his back, commanding, “Lie back,” and guiding him down. Castiel was limp, letting Cain position him stretched on his back, the rope running from his nose to his ass pressed under his weight pulling him in even more of a back bent bow.  
  
The ropes around his wrists were undone, blood flow rushing back throbbing in the deep sunk marks the rope left. Cain brought another length of rope over and knelt beside Castiel’s legs. Castiel closed his eyes and sighed as firm hands lifted and moved his legs, twisting rope around them from ankle to mid-thigh. The wide ball inside him shifted enough to tease at his rim, sliding as his legs were bent forward, sinking back in as he was stretched out. He floated on the physicality of it, from one swelling sensation to another, body alight with vying impression. The coarseness of the rope warmed his skin, Cain humming as he pulled it tight and wove Castiel’s legs together.  
  
The tarp crinkled as Cain stood and walked away so Castiel opened his eyes, forgetting for a moment and turning his head which painfully sunk the hooks into his nostrils. Grunting, he twisted his mouth up in a scowl and resumed the most comfortable position he could find as he waited on his back. The quiet shush of the pulley behind whirred, and he felt his legs lifting up from the floor.  
  
“Easy now,” Cain stated.  
  
Ah. As his legs lifted higher, Castiel pressed his palms to the floor and bore the brunt of his weight on his shoulders as Cain hoisted him inverted. Dangling upside down from the ceiling beam, legs practically mummified, Castiel jerked involuntarily with a momentary sense of displacement, swaying slightly. Cain kept pulling him up until he was several feet off the ground, head at about hip height when Cain passed in front of him. Castiel’s arms were gathered again, brought behind his back and wrapped up from wrist to elbow, tied to the rope around his thighs to keep his arms pinned.  
  
He couldn’t do anything more than squirm like a worm on a hook. Or a pig, he supposed, on two hooks.  
  
The slightly manic tinge of panic was starting to creep back into his hind brain. Instinct wasn’t entirely something you could suppress, no matter how much conditioning, and if he were honest with himself Castiel enjoyed it. The helplessness of the situation, the bodily reaction to danger that was purely instinctual. Raw. He lived a comfortable and quiet life for the most part, and it left him feeling numb. This, this base sense of fear and absolute vulnerability excited him.  
  
The scrape of metal on metal dragged him back out from his thoughts to focusing more so on what was coming. What could possibly be coming. In the corner of his sight upside down, Castiel watched Cain sharpening a long knife. The metallic scrape was a rhythmic shush-shush, scraping up and down Castiel’s spine. His skin prickled with goose bumps, fine hairs standing at attention in warning. Cain flashed a smile wide enough his teeth showed.  
  
Carrying a metal bucket over with his knife, Cain placed the bucket under Castiel’s head. Giving in to a moment of panic, Castiel thrashed. Cain didn’t even try to stop him. He only hurt himself, and managed to work the ball deeper inside his ass with such a satisfying stretch that he was getting whiplash between the arousal and the discomfort.  
  
A rough hand gripped his hair and pulled his head back. The cool wide flat of the knife was lightly dragged over his throat and Castiel stilled immediately. His heartbeat was pounding so hard it felt like it was trying to escape his chest, blood pooling down towards his head, skin flushed hot starting to perspire, the rope around his legs biting sharp and he whimpered pitifully for how achingly he was aroused by all of it.  
  
Without warning, a deep cut sliced across one side of his chest under the collarbone. Gasping, Castiel blinked. Warm blood trickled along the slope of his shoulder and down his neck into his hairline. Cain let go of his hold in Castiel’s hair, and he let his head fall down and back, dangling limply. Another cut sliced the other side of his chest, symmetrical. The initial sting eased into heat that throbbed. Panting, Castiel curled his fingers into fists and squeezed, flexed his toes.  
  
Cain hummed, picking up a low tune again and sliding his hand over Castiel’s sweat slick skin as he presumably followed the lines he’d made or perhaps he enjoyed the shuddering heave of Castiel’s chest struggling to breath as his heart beat against his ribs. Another line of cuts were made in quick succession following the ladder of his ribs and the feel of skin parting so neatly and easily with the deft sure motions of Cain’s hand had Castiel squeezing his ass around the ball inside it for some kind of stimulation.  
  
Blood trickled down his neck and along the curve of his jaw, past his ears and down, down with gravity to plink into the metal bucket with an echo. As Cain worked over him, slicing so many shallow little cuts that were punctuated with deeper gashes, the drip drip of blood against metal turned into a wet splash.  
  
Eyes rolled back in his head, Castiel was absolutely pliant to the point where he didn’t realize blood was seeping into his mouth and nose until he started to choke on it. Swallowing wrongly one moment, hacking against it the next, Cain paused when he started to judder with the pain of it going down wrong and the wetness in his nose making him feel like he was being suffocated.  
  
A hand cupped over his chin above his lips, keeping anymore blood from trickling into his mouth or nose.  
  
“Steady.”  
  
Muscles tense, Castiel blinked out the sting in his eyes and squeezed them shut, panting.  
  
“There. Easy now. Breathe.”

  
  
His breath rattled and his throat was sore, but Castiel calmed down. Dizzy and feeling faint, he didn’t realize Cain was lowering him until his head grazed the floor. Cain moved around him, unbound his arms. He caught himself as Cain lowered him more, head craned up, weight on his shoulders, body sliding wetly on the tarp with sweat and blood. His whole face was a dull ache by now from the unusual pull of the hook and his weak from blood loss. Dizzy from the inversion, heartbeat pulsing a drum against his skull. How long had he hung there, how many cuts did Cain make, he didn’t have his wits about him enough to count. Apparently there was still blood enough in his body his cock was hard - even that hurt too, neglected and aching.  
  
With swift, deft movements, Cain unwrapped him from the rope. The apron was set aside, shirt sleeves rolled up, jeans dark with blood. Castiel groaned with utter satisfaction when the nose hook was removed, but he whimpered pathetically when the anal hook was taken out. He didn’t have the strength, or the will, to do much but be moved about like some carcass as Cain flipped him over and hefted his hips up. On shaky legs, Castiel braced his knees under him, cut open chest pressed to the tarp and the pain swelled high and bright and ready to subsume him.  
  
He was distantly aware of the blunt pressure at his hole, strong hands wrapped over his hips, legs nudged apart and Cain fucked into him rough without preamble or pause. Loose limbed and dizzy enough his whole body felt like static, crackling in and out of focus, as Cain shoved into him Castiel came crashing back into his body.  
  
Pulled like an elastic band trembling after the tension’s released, Castiel floundered. The simmering gut ache of arousal ratcheted up as Cain pressed in deep, long drags. Everything came into sharp focus as he gasped and scrabbled at the wet tarp beneath him. The stinging ache of the cuts down his chest. Cock slapping up against his belly. Legs spread and still burning from rope. The copper taste ripe on his tongue. Cain’s hands anchoring him, holding him and pulling him back, digging roughly into tender flesh and Castiel felt absolutely and wholly non-human. Other. An object, or, an animal. Base. He was simply a cumulation of perception, an existence.  
  
The overwhelming tides of sensation lapping at him washed through him, surging, swelling, hot edge of pain tempered by the thrum of pleasure, and Castiel wailed as Cain pushed his back lower, curled over him, thrust in with frenetic snap of his hips and ground their bodies together. His climax ripped through him leaving him feeling hollowed and disconnected, taken apart. Every little hurt, every cramped muscle and cut, faded to a numb pulse.  
  
Castiel was somewhere else. Someone else.  
  
Strong hands guided him onto his back and he laughed breathlessly as he weakly stretched his limbs. He could hear Cain humming lowly again, speaking, soothing words that eased his heart beat back down.  
  
“Come back, pet.”  
  
Blinking, Castiel huffed a sigh and smiled at Cain hovering over him.  
  
“There you are, come on.”  
  
Hauled up to standing, Castiel was ill coordinated and dizzy as Cain half dragged his stumbling self back to the entrance of the barn and set him on a low stool.  
  
“Stay.”  
  
Folding over his knees, Castiel swayed slightly. The blood on his skin was drying tacky. In post-orgasm all the minutia of bodily limits and protests made themselves known. But then, Cain was back and he was tipping Castiel against his thigh, cradling his head and running a warm wet rag over his skin. Eyes fluttering shut, Castiel was pliable to his suggestion, barely hissing at the sting of cuts being washed. Cain swiped the cloth over his face, nose sore from the hook and he sneezed. Rough cotton rubbed away flakes of blood and come as Cain washed lower. Gentle but firm hands patted him dry.  
  
Castiel watched drowsily as Cain crouched in front of him, the herbal astringent smell of a tincture tingling his sinuses. The thick gooey ointment was spread over cuts, a few bandages applied to the deeper ones, and Castiel was half conscious as he leaned over Cain and held on to his shoulders. He had were no objections. He blinked in and out as moments slipped past piece meal.  
  
Bandaged, still collared, exhausted, Cain finally dragged him up and Castiel got his feet under him to stand on his own and follow after, upright, as he was led back to the animal pens. His pen was cleaned, several blankets draped over straw to cover the floor of it and he gladly collapsed inside, curling up in a ball. The wool blankets were freshly clean, pleasant laundry smell that was comforting, and another was draped over him before the gate creaked shut with a click of the latch and he was soon fully, deeply asleep.  
  
-  
  
It was still bright outside, birds chirping beyond the open barn doors, when Castiel woke drowsy and sore. Rolling on to his back, bunching the spare blanket under his head, he stretched as well as he could in the confined space. Propping his feet on the bars of the pen, he took stock of his body. It was a symphony of exquisite aches, from his nose to his ankles. Closing his eyes, he focused on cataloguing the nuance of it, differentiating now calmly between the tenderness in his nose from being unnaturally stretched to the warm sting of a knife cut and the throbbing rawness of skin chafed by rough rope.  
  
After a mental inventory, he looked down at himself again. There were only a few bandages over the deeper cuts on his chest, just one of them had blood seeped through to the surface. The other cuts were shallow and scabbing already. It wasn’t nearly as bad as he’d thought, but then, it probably felt more intense when he was strung upside down and couldn’t see what was being done. There were faded traces of black marker dot trails over his torso too, and that made him laugh. Impressions from the rope still pinked his legs, the coarse weave of it visible in some places.  
  
Drifting in and out of recuperative rest, Castiel startled awake quickly when he heard Cain’s footsteps in the barn.  
  
Long hair loose around his face, clothes clean and free of blood, Cain folded his arms over the gate. “Hungry, pet?”  
  
Castiel was ravenous.  
  
The gate swung open and Cain patted his hip with a short whistle. Castiel followed on hands and knees. Out in the aisle, Cain paused to brush his messy hair back. Though his chest was thoroughly cleaned, he was still sticky between his thighs. His wrists and knees were starting to protest kneeling and crawling, but he doubted Cain would make him crawl all tomorrow. He could make it a little longer tonight. Out through the soft grass and wild flowers of the yard, a gentle breeze refreshing on bare skin, Cain led him up to the porch and a large plush pillow there sitting beside a wicker chair and table.  
  
“Stay here, I’ll have dinner finished soon.”  
  
Happy to curl up on the cushion like more of a house pet than a barn animal, Castiel lounged and watched two bunnies in the yard through the banister slats. He could hear Cain puttering around inside, and his stomach grumbled, demanding immediate attention. Cain came out with a bowl of water and set it by his cushion, leaving again with just a pat to the head. Castiel made sure to lick every drop of water from the bowl, feeling better already as he sprawled in the shade of the porch listening to the hum of insects.  
  
The sky was blazing with the sunset when Cain came back out carrying a tray laden with food. Castiel had been curious about the spicy heady smell coming from the house. He sat up with his legs folded underneath him and watched as Cain set the tray on the small table and settled in the chair. Legs in a casual spread, Cain gestured and patted one of his thighs. Castiel was eager to crawl between and settle down, resting his chin on Cain’s warm thigh, legs folded under the chair, Castiel’s hands settled in his lap.  
  
Cain brushed through his hair and scratched under the edge of his collar. “What a well behaved pet. I have something special for you tonight.”  
  
With Castiel’s head on one thigh, Cain lifted a plate from the tray and balanced it on the other. Castiel eyed it curiously, hungry for the thin sliced peppers and slivered carrots that were sautéed and glistening with oil. A favorite that Cain had made for him before. The meat of the dish, it looked like thick sausage cut into slices, but there were white flecks in it and the meat was dark to almost black.  
  
Cain picked up a piece of the meat with his fingers and offered it to Castiel. Opening his mouth obediently, Castiel sucked at Cain’s fingers when he tried to pull away. Letting the meat sit on his tongue, it was slightly greasy, a crumbly texture. Biting in to it, the meat burst with tangy spice and a rich complex flavor. Moaning, Castiel chewed and swallowed and opened his mouth for another piece. Which clearly pleased Cain.  
  
“I’m glad you like it. I’ve been experimenting with recipes for my own home made sausage. I think I like barley the best for bulk, and the pig’s lard adds a rich fat. But the secret, really,” Cain fed him another bite, and Castiel tried not to eat too fast, he wanted to savor it, “is that you need fresh blood. You can make blood sausage with the blood of any animal, but it must be fresh to assure quality.”  
  
Castiel recognized what Cain was saying, but he still took the next bite held to his lips and rolled it over his tongue as he chewed. What he was curious about, really, was how much Cain had bled him out earlier and if this was mostly his own blood or if it was cut with another animal’s. Details. Swallowing, he held his mouth open for another bite. It was really very delicious sausage.  
  
Cain fed himself as he fed Castiel, messily pinching bites of the spicy shredded vegetables for Castiel to lick off his fingers. Twilight was settling with a lingering rosy tint to the undersides of the clouds as they finished eating. Cain made sure he drank another full glass of water and Castiel stayed tucked between his legs. A hand rested on Castiel’s head, Cain stretched to the side to pick up a book that he’d brought out with dinner.  
  
The first soft blip of lightning bugs across the lawn flittered around as Cain flipped open to the front of the book. Castiel tilted his head to read the spine. Foucault. Madness and civilization.    
  
“At the end of the Middle Ages, leprosy disappeared from the Western world. In the margins of the community, at the gates of cities, there stretched wastelands which sickness had ceased to haunt but had left sterile and long uninhabitable.”  
  
The cadence of Cain’s voice was soothing as he read. Castiel loved reading time. Shifting to pull his knees up to his chest, tucked between Cain’s legs sideways, he nuzzled higher along the inside of Cain’s thigh and rested against him. Balancing the book on the arm of the chair, Cain kept one hand idly stroking Castiel’s hair.  
  
“For centuries, these reaches would belong to the non-human.”  
  
Sighing, letting the tension unspool from his muscles, night air cool against bare skin but refreshing, Castiel listened. Cain read all manner of things to him, from fantastical fiction stories to weighty philosophical texts. Castiel appreciated the variety, and memorized the book title’s so he could read them in full on his own time.    
  
“From the fourteenth to the seventeenth century, they would wait, soliciting with strange incantations a new incarnation of disease, another grimace of terror, renewed rites of purification and exclusion.”  
  
Feeling blissfully mindless at the moment, Castiel didn’t think very hard about what Cain read but only let the comfort of Cain’s calm voice wrap around him. Broad, warm hands stroked over the curve of his shoulder and across his back. The lingering aches of his body were a gentle undercurrent, pulsing with his heartbeat, one steady breath at a time. Everything was right now, and right now was all he was.  
  
Watching the erratic paths of the fire fly lights, Castiel longed to be able to hold this peace within himself always.  
  
-  
  
Castiel was still sore in the morning when he woke in his pen on a mound of bunched up blankets, but the sharp edge of pain had dulled to smaller aches. Rolling over and twisting his body around to stretch, he blearily rubbed his eyes. The damn rooster was still going off, loud and insistent. Shifting onto his back and propping his feet up on the gate, Castiel closed his eyes and let his hands wander over his body. Tender bruises, soft pads of bandages, the rough scabbing lines of cuts, the skin of his wrists and legs smoothed over but still raw in some areas from rope.  
  
It anchored him, grounded him physically and served to make Castiel more keenly aware of his existence in a way. He enjoyed the lingering bruises and watching his body heal in the weeks after a visit to Cain. Some marks would last almost a full three weeks. The deeper cuts on his chest, he suspects, might still be red by the time of his next visit but as far as he can tell the cuts are smooth and neat, if they leave a scar it’ll be just a sliver.  
  
He didn’t mind scars. There were a few on his body that served as warnings, he tried to remember not to do certain things, to be careful. There were some born of frustration and desperation that he kept as a different sort of caution. And some few that were actually fond memories.  
  
Though his belly was cramped from a full bladder he didn’t feel like relieving himself until after breakfast when Cain would let him out of the pen, and despite the discomfort his cock was very happy to say good morning. Sighing, he watched it twitch against his belly but he didn’t touch it. The collar around his neck was a comfortable weight that restrained him. He could appreciate the discipline.  
  
Restless and well rested, Castiel picked at the straw lining his pen and twisted strands together into little braided wreaths. Distracted with this pursuit, he didn’t hear Cain until the man entered his line of sight and Castiel quickly rolled onto his hands and knees to shuffle to the front of the pen.  
  
“Good morning, pig.”  
  
Cain swung the gate open and crowded in, curious about the little wreath of braided straw. He had a way of laughing that was restrained, more like a rumble, but Castiel knew when he found something amusing. The little woven wreath was placed on Castiel’s head before Cain turned to close the gate and fetch breakfast. Settling back on his haunches, Castiel waited. The morning routine was familiar, but afterward Cain led him to the back of the barn and set him on the stool to check his cuts, reapplying ointment and deeming the deeper cuts well enough to air out.  
  
“I need to get some work done in the wood shed. You’ll sit with me today. Come on, on your feet.”  
  
Standing upright, only dressed in his collar, Castiel pattered after Cain to another out building further back on the property. His knees were scraped raw, bruised like fruit, and he appreciated the command to walk. Inside the shed – more like a smaller barn in Castiel’s opinion, but Cain called it a shed – there was a rough canvas pillow in the corner, stuffed plush and Castiel was happy to settle there. Woodwork projects in different stages of creation cluttered the shed. It was well organized, he was sure of it, but Castiel couldn’t quite see the ordering of it.  
  
The shed was overflowing with pieces held together by vices to let glue set, other things that had probably been coated in resin or lacquer and were left to dry, scraps of wood piled by type and size. Castiel didn’t have the slightest clue how these things were made, but they were beautiful and he loved to watch Cain work.  
  
He had his own small projects though. Just little blocks of scrap wood and a sharp knife, Cain had given him a few pointers but mostly left him free reign to fuss with whittling whatever he wanted. He hadn’t anywhere near the artistic imagination or the technical skill that Cain put into his work, but it kept his hands busy as they spent the morning in companionable silence, the hum of a summer day interrupted only by the tools Cain used. Castiel’s favorite sound was when he sanded large planks of wood, melodic susurrations of metal grating off one fine layer at a time.  
  
The sense of peace here that soothingly enveloped him was something Castiel had never found anywhere else. His heart was full of the sweet smell of sawdust and the warmth of the sunshine through the open shed doors, not a burden to weigh him down at all.  
  
Castiel frequently let his gaze wander and stilled his hands, watching Cain bent over a project with his curly hair pulled back in a ponytail, sawdust flecking his beard, shirt sleeves rolled up and the tan skin of his forearm flexing with muscle. But today he was distracted with his nearly finished little project, adding what few details he dared to try, fine whiskers carved back along the face, little paws tucked in close to the body, tail curved around it.  
  
“A cat, hm?”  
  
Blinking up, Cain was brushing sawdust out of his beard and watching Castiel. He only had a few more things to fix on his carving. No, no he was afraid of messing up what he already had done. Holding up the small carved cat, barely the size of his palm, Cain took and studied it.  
  
“Getting better with the detail work.”  
  
Castiel shifted on his pillow and pressed his face to Cain’s thigh.  
  
“It’s past noon. We should get lunch.”  
  
Curling even closer to Cain, practically sitting on his feet, Castiel staid stubbornly put. He didn’t want to have lunch. Because after lunch he had to leave. It was Sunday afternoon and tomorrow the work week started again.  
  
“Come on pet, I’m not sending you home hungry.”  
  
As Cain stepped away, the little wood sculpture still in his hand, Castiel has no choice but to follow. Back to the house, up the porch steps, into the kitchen. He knelt without prompting and tipped his head forward for Cain to remove the collar, immediately missing it’s weight and constriction.  
  
Standing, he accepted the collar back from Cain.  
  
“Go on and shower, I’ll make lunch.”  
  
It’d only been a few days but his voice felt strange and ill suited when he said, “Thank you,” before gathering his backpack from the kitchen counter and going upstairs to the bathroom.  
  
A hot shower did wonders. Eased the taut ache from his muscles and loosened his limbs. Stretching for a few poses in the tub, reaching up to touch the ceiling and bending forward to flatten his palms against the smooth porcelain, Castiel lingered in the shower. He wouldn’t keep Cain waiting too long, though. Dressing in a loose t-shirt and sweatpants, Castiel had learned his lesson the hard way after his first caning that jeans weren’t kind to abraded or cut skin.  
  
Castiel certainly felt more human after his shower, and he wasn’t sure if he liked it.  
  
Back downstairs in the kitchen, two full plates were set on the counter, and Cain was pouring glasses of iced sweet tea. It made something warm and curious curl in Castiel’s belly how Cain cared for him. As brutal and demanding as he could be when they were more … into particular roles, Cain was nothing if not attentive. Castiel needed that sometimes, to be looked after. Or maybe he only wanted it. There’s a subtle way that Cain spoiled him, and Castiel couldn’t understand what in this bizarre sort of transaction or relationship benefitted Cain. But then, he supposed, that what he got out of it for himself might be considered strange as well.  
  
“We’ll eat on the porch.”  
  
Cain nodded his head towards the front of the house as he picked up the tea, so Castiel took the plates and followed. Cain didn’t ask questions, he stated what they would do, and it was easy to listen. Passing through the hallway and peeking into the front room, Castiel smiled to see the little carved cat sitting on the mantle above the fireplace with his other crude pieces – a turtle, a dog, a pig, he tried a bumblebee once and broke off a wing midway through but it sat on the mantle with the others.  
  
The midday heat was sweltering, barely any relief offered in the shade of the porch, and the sweat of his body stung in the fresh cuts on his chest. Wood worn smooth with age under his bare feet, the soft give of the cushion on wicker furniture, the cool perspiration of the tea on the outside of the glass as Cain passed it to him, Castiel savored the little things. Settling down quietly to eat, the first bite of the sandwich had his toes curling in pleasure. Savory roast beef and sharp horseradish spread, with Swiss cheese and thick tomatoes, it was perfect with the side of creamy coleslaw to temper it.  
  
Sitting on the side of the porch facing the stretch of gardens and pens between the house and barn, the two of them watched the chickens clucking around in their fenced off area directly beside the coop. Castiel liked the chickens. Just not the rooster.  
  
Finished with lunch, he set his plate aside and enjoyed his tea, relaxing gingerly as he tested the aches of his body. There was one thing he felt curious about.  
  
“Did you actually use my blood in the sausage yesterday?”  
  
Cain quirked an eyebrow at him and smiled with one corner of his lips. “Of course.” Sipping his own tea, he crossed one ankle over a knee. “I couldn’t take enough from you for the whole recipe, so I did cut it with pig’s blood I picked up Friday.”  
  
“What was the ratio?”  
  
“About half and half. It was only a small batch.”  
  
“It was delicious.”  
  
Now, Cain smiled with his whole face, clearly amused. “I’m glad you thought so.”  
  
Too soon, always too soon, Castiel had to admit that he had to leave. Back to his small, tidy apartment. His steady well paying job. The community he didn’t particularly feel a part of and his family that would never acknowledge even the more reasonable pieces of himself. Well. The plants would need watered.    
  
When the tea was gone and the ice cubes had melted and been sipped away as well, there was nothing else to linger for.  
  
Together, they took the dishes back in and Castiel washed as Cain dried. Hefting his back pack up, lighter without the wine, and slipping on his shoes, Castiel dallied at the front door. Cain was patient. Hair curling messily around his face, a little sawdust still caught in the folds of his shirt’s hem. Boldly now, on even terms, Castiel reached out towards him and settled a hand on Cain’s shoulder as he leaned forward barely enough to brush their lips together.  
  
A hand settled on his hip, squeezing reassuringly. Lips parted, breathing against each other, the kiss was light, bittersweet and brief.  
  
Castiel didn’t need much.


End file.
